Safe
by Socrates7727
Summary: After the team fell apart, Tony spent years doing anything he could to forget them. He became an interrogator in counter-terrorism. It wasn't bad, per se, and he only tortured people occasionally. Until he was sent in to interrogate Amina Ahmed. Only, what if she isn't who they think she is? Tiva! Rated M for mentions of rape. Was a two-shot, now in progress.
1. Chapter 1

AN I don't own NCIS or any of its characters. Like I said, this was motivated by reading reviews! Thank you everyone!

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After the fallout at NCIS, Tony was transferred. He applied to go back to Baltimore, but got reassigned to counter terrorism. It wasn't hard, or particularly difficult. It was mostly just interrogation and torture but he didn't mind it as much anymore. It grew on him. The longer he stayed in that place, the longer he simmered with hate for the team he could barely remember that had broken his heart, it grew on him. He tried not to enjoy it too much. Besides, it didn't usually come to that anyways. Years of learning from Gibbs, and he rarely had to resort to torture unless it was on a time constraint or unless he wanted to. Sometimes, he just wanted to.

But he had been flown out to eastern Afghanistan to interrogate a female terrorist named Amina Ahmed, so he put his existential and moral crisis on hold.

"Careful she's a feisty one. Bit Sanchez in the crotch when he got too close." The soldiers/guards snickered at Sanchez's expense. Perfect. Just what he needed.

"Can you give me anything else, guys? I don't like walking into these things blind." They shrugged. Unhelpful, as expected.

"Long frizzy hair, five eight or five nine, skinny, pretty strong when she isn't huddled in the corner or tied up. You want us to lock her in before you get in there?" He shook his head. He would be her friend, first, and then be mean if he had to. But nice always came first.

"No, thanks. Is she restrained at all? Can you give me the layout of the room?" One of them walked away and the other nodded. Barnes. Tony liked him already.

"Yeah, she's in the northeast corner. Handcuffs attached to a six foot chain bolted to the floor. There's a table in the center of the room-the room is twelve by twelve. She can reach the table to sit at it but she never gets up anyways. Toilet along the east wall. That's about it." He nodded in appreciation to Barnes.

"Thanks." It wasn't as bad as he worried it would be. Ahmed was Muslim, he knew that much, and she likely didn't take well to the strange men controlling her environment. But, then again, if she was an international terrorist, maybe it didn't faze her as much. He motioned for them to let him in.

The room was dim and dusty, likely due to the dirty floor, but he'd seen much worse. And, like the guys outside had described, the female figure was crouched into the northeast corner, hiding her face in her arms. She didn't look like an international terrorist. But they never did.

" _I'm not going to hurt you_." He addressed her in Pashto, one of the few phrases he could say, but he knew she spoke French too. He would wait to ease into that. It was easier, sometimes, if they heard their first language from him first-it built a little bit of respect. But she didn't move, didn't even appear to be listening.

" _You can hear me,"_ he tried again, in French this time. " _I know you can understand me, too."_ She didn't look up, but she shifted a bit to reposition her head in her arms. There was blood trickling down through her hair and bruises on her arms but that wasn't unusual, so he didn't sigh or comment on it. That was what happened when you fought the guards.

" _Would you like some water?_ " Still no response. A knock and one of the guards poked his head into the room with the food he'd requested, placing it on the table with a glare at Ahmed. His uniform said Sanchez. Tony had to hold back a snicker.

"You sure you wanna give that bitch a three course meal?" Sanchez was clearly still bitter about the crotch biting incident, but Ahmed didn't move or even look at him. Even at the English. They didn't know if she understood English, but the guards knew that he did and preferred it to Pashto whenever possible.

"No one can say no to french fries." The soldier shrugged and dipped back up but when he looked back, Ahmed had lifted her head. He couldn't see her face or meet her eyes, but it was movement. At the English… interesting.

"Do you understand English? If you prefer it, we can talk in whatever language you want. English, though, I don't need a translator. You gotta give me some kind of indication either way, so give me a nod if you prefer English?" Her head bobbed. Good, this wasn't going to be as hard as the guards had made it sound. He tossed her a french fry. A hand darted out and took it, drawing it under the hair to where he assumed she ate it.

"See? That wasn't that hard. If you want to come sit at the table with me, you're welcome to as many fries as you want. But, if you prefer to stay where you are, then the general conversion rate is going to be a fry for an answer. Agreed?" Another little nod. He tossed her another french fry.

"Fantastic. I'm so glad we can have such a healthy relationship already. McDonalds can break through the bonds of any issue, at least that's what I've always thought. I would have brought burgers but I couldn't be sure it was halal, and I know you're a practicing Muslim so I settled for fries. You want another?" Another nod, another fry. "Now, will you let me see your face? I wouldn't normally ask but, given the fact that we're in a Afghani holding cell with charges of terrorism floating around so… I'm gonna need to get a positive ID before we talk much more." She didn't move, her body stiff.

"I'll give you _two_ fries if you look up. You don't even have to meet my eyes, just let me get a positive ID." Slowly, she lifted her head. He could tell just from the angle of her jaw that Ahmed was beautiful-the evil ones always were. The dip of her chin, the curve of her lips, and even if her cheeks were bruised and bloodied, they were beautiful too. They were not, however, Afghani.

"Mmm I'd give that half a fry, you gotta face the light, Amina." She hesitated, that was clear, but she slowly turned her face into the light. He felt his stomach drop. That face. He _knew_ that face. Not from a wanted poster, though, and not from the briefing material. He _knew_ her, from somewhere, somehow. An assignment? A different interrogation? Had he interrogated her before? No, he was sure he would have remembered her… He knew her, though, from something… He _knew_ her…

"...Ziva?" Her eyes snapped up and it hit him instantly. Ziva…?

Ziva!?

He rushed down beside her, kneeling to look at her even when she flinched violently away. He didn't touch her, though. She just stared at him. Her eyes were slow and unblinking, barely tracking his face, but he sat beside her and was prepared to do whatever it took to reach her. God… Ziva!

"Zi, sweetheart, I need you to look at me." But the way her eyes looked right on through him said that was unlikely. "Okay, change of plan. Close your eyes, Zi, and just listen to my voice. You know me. It's me, it's Tony, you don't have to be scared. Just give me a nod or a head shake, okay?" She nodded, even if it was slow and slightly delayed.

"Okay, tell me right now if blowing this cover is going to endanger your life or anyone else's-wait, no, scratch that. Just your life. Tell me if blowing your cover will endanger your life." A slow, distracted shake of her head. Oh thank fucking god. He wasn't sure what he would have done if she'd said yes, but he was so relieved she said no.

"Okay, good, you're doing good, Zi. Do I need to hide your identity to get you out of here?" A nod. Well, that made it harder. But there was no way he was leaving her here like this. Suddenly, the bruises on her face weren't just routine they were the kind of thing that made his skin crawl. He wanted to bash the soldiers' faces in for doing that to her. But, no, she was the priority now.

"Do you need medical attention before we go, Zi?" She shook her head. "Do you need a hospital when we get out?" She shook her head. She was probably lying, given the damage he could from where he was, but he was content to trust her on it for the moment.

"Okay, Zi… Honey, I don't think you can walk out of here so I'm going to have to carry you. Can you let me touch you?" She hesitated. "Please, Ziva, you know me. I will never hurt you, sweetheart. Please, I need you to try because that's the only way I can get you out of here. Please, Zi? Try?" She nodded, blinking back tears. God he hated the way her lower lip was trembling, like she was going to fall apart the second he breathed too hard.

"Here, like this." He slid his arm around her shoulders, trying not to grimace at how much she flinched, but let her catch her breath for a second. When she met his eyes again, he slid his other arm under her legs. Slowly, like she was made of glass, he lifted her and tried so hard to ignore the little terrified gasps coming from behind her hair. He was going to kill them. He would get her out, and then he would come back and fucking destroy them all.

"Zi, sweetheart, I'm not going to hurt you. Please just hold on for a few more minutes, okay?" She didn't say anything or move but her whimpers quieted for a moment, enough to ease his anxiety about it. With one foot, he kicked the door for it to be opened. A soldier opened it, and gawked at him already half ready to shoot but he pushed through him.

"She went into anaphylactic shock, asshole, I'm getting her to the med tent." They started yelling about securing the prisoner and bringing a doctor to them but he yelled about it being too late and was already out the door, ducking as far as he could out of view as soon as possible. She was going limp in his arms. Shit, shit, shit! He literally ran for one of the trucks, hoping to reach it before the yelling started. Barely, just barely, his hand touched the door. He managed to get her into the passenger seat and buckled before the shooting started. In all honesty, it wasn't the first time he'd been chased off a military base with gunfire and it could have gone a lot worse but… Somehow, with Ziva in the passenger seat, it became a thousand times worse. Every little jerk of the car made her groan and he wanted to cry every time she shuddered or flinched at sudden noises. She didn't deserve this. Of all people, Ziva didn't deserve to be tortured into this half-catatonic state of terror.

"Okay, sweetheart, just keep breathing and stay with me. You can sleep when we get to the safehouse, but not yet baby. Stay with me, Zi." He was so focused on driving and avoiding holes in the road that he almost yelped when she touched his hand. _She_ was touching _him_!? But she was, even if it was just a little at first. When the truck hit the next pothole, though, it jolted her enough to make her grab his hand, like she was trying to steady herself. That was a slippery slope, though, because soon she was clinging to it like a life preserver. Like he could save her, or something,

God, why hadn't he gone looking for her!? Even if it was typical of her to drop off the grid like that and even if Gibbs said not to worry why hadn't he just looked?! She could have been in that hell for months, even years! Holy shit… had she been there since the team broke up? He wouldn't put it past her father.

"Zi, sweetie, just hold on, okay? Just hold onto me we're almost there just let me make sure you're okay before you go passing out on me. We're almost there, baby." She didn't nod, but she gripped his hand a little tighter. He wanted to scream and hit something and cry and hug but he settled for driving even faster, rushing for the safehouse. Well, it wasn't a safehouse. It was a crappy motel room in the middle of the city but no one was going to come looking for them. She wasn't that high profile, at least. Thank god for that.

"Okay, we're here sweetheart. Do you think you can walk up stairs?" She shook her head. "Okay, I'm going to pick you up again, Zi. We're almost there, just hold on." She didn't flinch, that time, when he reached over and picked her up bridal style-fuck she was light. Not light in an attractive, skinny way, though. Light in a way that made his stomach churn because no human being should feel that much like a damn china doll.

"T-Tony?" He almost dropped her, reeling. Wait, no, up the stairs, he kept going through the motel gate and up the stairs to the second floor even though he was shaking now, and not from the adrenaline. She remembered him. She knew him, she knew his name-he'd gotten through to her!

"Yes, it's Tony I'm here, hon. Just hold on, okay? We're almost to the room now, it's okay you're gonna be okay." Her arms came up around his neck, holding onto him. Jesus Christ _she_ was holding on to _him_! He was never going to be able to let her go again, not after this.

"It's okay, sweetheart, see? Here's the room, here we are, you can almost sleep just a few seconds more. You still with me, beautiful?" She groaned, but it was an answer nevertheless. Thank god! Then, they were inside the motel room and he was setting her on the bed and it seemed so simple, just laying her down and finding a first aid kit… But nothing could ever be that simple.

It started like a shiver, maybe, or a shudder that racked her too-skinny frame but then she wasn't breathing and her eyes were blown wide in terror and she was grabbing at air, clinging to where his hand used to be. Then, she started to scream. Sharp, tortured screams like he was stabbing needles under her nails for information. She thrashed on the bed like she was trying to escape her own body and he froze, just for a second, because he'd never seen that kind of fear in a person's eyes in all his years of interrogating people. In a heartbeat, he was back beside her and trying to calm her down but nothing worked. He gave her back his hand, but she pushed it away and he tried to talk to her but she couldn't hear him over her own screaming.

Finally, he just pulled her into his arms and held her. She screamed, but it was quieter. And, soon, she was quieter, slowly letting him pull her up into his lap and clinging to him. Her arms went back around his neck-Jesus! He was never going to get used to that… Though, he wasn't sure he wanted to.

"Shhhh it's okay, sweetheart, it's okay. I'm here, I've got you, you're safe baby. You're safe. Just breathe Zi, you're safe." Slowly, she was reduced to shaking little pants and she buried her face in his chest like a child. Like she was hiding from the bad men.

"It's okay, baby, I've got you. Just breathe." She obeyed, falling into him with a sigh. It was gradual, but he heard her breathing slow and shallow against his chest and he smoothed her hair but it wasn't enough. He wanted to hold her closer, somehow, and tighter even though that didn't seem possible.

"I've got you. You're safe, sweetheart, you're safe." In his arms, she shivered and nuzzled into his chest.

" _Safe_ ," she repeated, her voice hoarse and weak-but it was her voice nevertheless. " _Safe_."

"Yes, that's it. Safe, Zi, you're safe. Just breathe for me, okay? I've got you. You're safe." She whimpered but nodded.

" _Safe_."

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Thanks for reading! Please review/comment if you want me to upload more! Thank you so much to everyone who had left reviews! You have no idea how much it means to me, honestly.


	2. Chapter 2

AN I don't own NCIS or any of its characters. Ask, and ye shall receive! Thank you for the reviews and here's your update! Hope you like it!

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She looked like an angel, thrown down from heaven. He'd scrubbed the dirt from her face as soon as she'd fallen asleep, and he'd cleaned and bandaged what she could but it wasn't much. Still, lying there splayed out on the bed, bruised and still slightly bloodied, she looked like an angel to him. Maybe an angel with no wings, no halo, tossed down to Earth to suffer with humanity for a while, but an angel the nevertheless.

He couldn't stop looking at her. Even when she snored a little, even when she shifted on the bed to smother herself with her hair, and even when she groaned randomly in pain. It was like some kind of addiction, staring at her and watching her chest rise and fall with each breath. A reassurance that she was alive, she was okay. Every few minutes, he had to stop and repeat that phrase until he unclenched his fists and relaxed back into the chair. She was alive, she was okay. He had to remember that.

She stirred again on the bed, rolling towards him just a little bit, and he couldn't help himself. He reached out and took her hand in his. It was gentle, and so unbelievably careful Tony was almost surprised with himself, so there was no way he could wake her. But she grabbed his hand, and held it.

"Hey, Zi, it's okay. You don't have to be afraid, sweetheart." Slowly, she lifted her face to look up at him. He squeezed her hand and ran his thumb over the scabs on her knuckles until she opened her eyes. She squinted against the sudden light.

"Hey, it's okay, you don't have to open your eyes, Zi. Just give yourself a minute to adjust." She obeyed, letting her head fall back on the pillow again as she gripped his hand a little tighter. Like not seeing made her a little more dependent on him. But he squeezed back, because he didn't mind. He kind of liked her relying on him like this-though he didn't like the situation that got them here-but it was… trusting. And that was something he could get used to.

" _Safe_?" Oh God. That word sounded so familiar off her lips that it almost sounded like his name for a minute. It took him a second to realize it wasn't his name. But it didn't sound any different, it was still her reaching out, asking for him, making sure that he was there.

"Yes, Zi, safe. You're safe. How are you feeling, sweetie? Do you want to take a bath, get all the blood and dirt off for good?" She groaned. "Is… is that a yes?" Another groan. She rolled into him, pulling his hand against her chest like a teddy bear.

"Help me?" Mmm that seemed like a bad idea. He wanted to help her, and he would ultimately do anything she asked because it was her. But helping her bathe seemed like it was crossing a line… didn't it? They were still-technically-colleagues. Technically.

"Zi, are you sure? I can get you all set up and you can call the second you need me-"

"Safe?" Tony grimaced. She was right, she was totally right. He'd told her she was safe with him, that he would take care of her, and here he was trying to back out. Honestly, she'd been fucking tortured! And he was worried about maintaining professionalism?

"Yes, I'm sorry sweetheart, you're right. Safe." She rolled into him a little more, almost positioning herself to be carried, and he had to smile. Even when she hissed in pain, he had to smile. Because she clutch his shirt and buried her face in his chest as they walked-because she trusted him.

"Okay, Zi, you gotta help me with this." He set her down in the tub, grim and blood and all, and turned to her shirt. It was more of a tank top, actually, and it was halfway in shreds already so he didn't feel too guilty about pulling it off over her head and tossing it on the floor. God he never, in a million years, would have guessed that he would be undressing her. And definitely not like this.

For once in his life, he was grateful he had such a wide experience with women because he undid the clasp of her bra and removed it in a seconds. But she shivered, drawing him back to the present. Her pants were gone and he had no questions where they'd gone-he was going to kill those soldiers, American or not. The underwear was dirty and bloody but he tried not to think about that as he pulled them off too. He sighed, but held his tongue.

"Honey, I know it's probably pointless to ask but should I be getting a rape kit before this bath?" She snorted, even with her eyes closed, and he bit his lip. He knew the answer, but it still stung.

"No point," she mumbled. Not because the evidence wouldn't be there, he knew, but because she didn't care. It wasn't the first time-he got that sense. But it didn't make it any less horrible to him, even if she shrugged it off as too many men and not worth the trouble. He wasn't going to push it, but he has going to ask.

"You sure, Zi?" She nodded. He wanted to scream at how resigned she was, but he just bit his lip a little harder. No, he couldn't start that conversation now, not when she was still barely opening her eyes. He couldn't do that to her. So, instead, he just reached over and turned on the water, warming it just above room temperature. Like drawing a bath for a child, he realized.

"You doing okay, sweetheart?" She nodded, still holding his hand against her chest. The water level began to rise, up over her toes and then up over her knees, but even though it turned a reddish brown it wasn't enough. She was still coated in that _place_. It felt wrong, realistically, to reach out and touch her but it wasn't wrong, actually. He reached out to touch her knee, but it didn't feel wrong. It was weirdly… right.

"Tell me if I hurt you or anything, okay Zi?" Another nod. He ran his hand down her shin, smoothing the water between her toes and behind her knees. With one hand still pinned to her chest, he squirted soap into the other and rubbed that down her legs too, massaging the bottoms of her feet until she sighed. He moved up her thighs, up her hips, up her sides. He turned her to sit sideways in the tub and rubbed the soap into her shoulders, then down her spine. She sighed into him.

"You still doing okay, sweetheart?" She nodded, dropping her head back against his shoulder. "Okay, time for the shampoo." He poured it into her hair and used a cup to pour water over her head to rinse it out, again like a child. Why was he treating her so much like a freaking child? She seemed to like it, though, or at least relax because of it. Conditioner came next, then soap up on her neck and behind her ears and down her chest. She sighed.

"Okay, sweetie, time to rinse." She nodded, again, but didn't move to help him and he had to laugh. This wasn't terrible of him, right? She needed help, and he was helping her-it was that simple.

...right?

"Alright, let me see your hair." She turned to let him dry it. "Okay, sweetheart, that's good. This arm first, now this one, now each leg, good baby. You're doing good. All done! Now, come here and we'll get you dressed in clothes that don't smell like shit, okay?" Another nod. But, as he picked her up, she hid her face in his shirt and he could swear-just for a second-that he heard a giggle.

"Did you just laugh, sweetheart?" She kept her face hidden but he knew, her silence was too perfect for it to be anything but a smile. And, that made him smile. She was doing better.

He set her down on the bed again, being sure to give her his hand before moving away this time, and grabbed what few bandaids and antibiotics he could find on short notice. After a few minutes of taking care of her, she let go of his hand. The absence was so sudden he almost choked and for a split-second he _knew_ she had passed out or died or something horrible but, when he looked up at her, there was no panic or death on her face. Her eyes were open, watching him.

"Safe." It was no longer a question, but he nodded because it'd become a habit. "Food?" He handed her an applesauce pouch as he wrapped up her ankle. She downed it immediately. When she started to shiver, he pulled up the comforter and tucked her in with a little smile that she actually returned. She was smiling, even if it was slight.

"Hey, sweetheart-" He stopped himself. Somehow, now with her eyes boring into him, that petname felt so much more real and intense. Had he even earned the right to call her that? God he was so stupid! He'd gotten so used to calling her sweetheart and baby and honey that he hadn't even realized that wasn't normal, or something she'd agreed to.

"It's okay," She took his hand again with a squeeze. "I like it, say it again." He was never going to get used to that. He was going to die still shocked by that warmth and trust in her voice, still reeling at her _asking_ him to call her petnames.

"Okay, sweetheart, you wanna tell me why you were pretending to be a terrorist?" Her eyes fell to her feet, even when he reached up and cupped her cheek. He ran a thumb along her cheekbone until she smiled. He would have done it a thousand times if it meant she would smile again, honestly.

"My father, why else?" Together, they nodded for a second in mutual dislike. "I was undercover with Mossad, with… well, like black ops kind of? For my father, though, is the part that matters."

"How long?" It wasn't a question he really wanted to ask, but he had to know. Any amount of time was going to be like a knife in his chest, no matter how she said it. Even just a day…

"Three years." Well, shit. Tony almost doubled over when he felt like the wind was knocked out of him. Three years. He had been going around losing his humanity and torturing people for information while she'd been here, being tortured and raped and interrogated. And for something she didn't even do! Simply because her father had told her to.

"Amina?" It was a stupid question, for sure, but he couldn't think of anything else to say. His mind was still reeling, trying to understand the fact that she had needed him for _three years_ and he hadn't even thought to look for her. He hadn't even tried!

"It was the name my mother wanted to give me. My father chose Ziva, though, because it had more of an edge to it. You okay?" He probably looked like he was about to pass out. Hell, he felt like he was about to pass out! But the irony of _her_ asking _him_ if he was okay made him laugh.

"I'm fine, sweetheart. You're the one I'm worried about." But she just rolled her eyes at him.

"You look like you're going to cry, Tony, what is it? What did I say?" She was just so… sincere. There was no way he was going to hug her or anything, not after what she'd been through, but he wanted to. He wanted hug her so tightly that he could put the pieces of her back together. But that was ridiculous, he knew. God, he just wanted to pull her into his arms and smooth her hair and try with everything he had to tell her he would be there, to make up for those three years-

"Tony." And then she was in his arms. He wouldn't have touched her, not now, but she was the one hugging him. It shattered his self control. He pulled her up and held her close, tangling a hand in her hair and just trying not to hurt her.

"Tony," she repeated, her voice a little stronger even though it was muffled by his shirt. "Tony, I'm okay. It's okay, I'm safe." He bit his lip so hard he thought it might start gushing blood but he didn't care if it kept him from falling apart at those words. Ziva, the one who could barely keep her eyes open! The one who had just been tortured for three years! _She_ was telling _him_ that everything was okay!

"Tony, I'm safe." She was confident, telling him not asking anymore, but he just tried to nod. Right, she was safe. She was here, in his lap, telling him to call the hell down and focus, but he couldn't just get a grip!

"Tony, I'm safe." Finally, it sank it. She was safe, she was okay, she was here with him. They were going to be okay.

"Safe," he repeated, kissing her forehead when she nodded.

"Safe, Tony. I'm safe."

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Thank you for reading! And extra thank you for any and everyone who left a review! They make me incredibly happy (and update faster)!


	3. Chapter 3

AN I don't own NCIS of any of its characters! I wasn't going to post (or write) this so soon but I was reading reviews so... here we are. Enjoy!

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Tony wanted to scream. He wanted to throw things across the room until they shattered and he wanted to scream at the top of his lungs until there was no more oxygen left to breathe in. But Ziva was sleeping, so he stayed quiet and still in his chair. He just watched her breathe.

She could have stopped breathing. But, honestly, it would have been easier if she had. He hated himself for thinking that but it was true-even if his every heartbeat was just waiting on her breath, even if he felt like he would die the second her chest hesitated to raise. It would have been easier if they'd killed her. She could have gone to heaven, left her father and all the other people who'd hurt her behind, she could have been at peace. But that wasn't her style.

Ziva was a fighter, and she lived. She didn't always survive, she didn't always get out in one piece, but she lived. And here she was, just living, and it felt like his world was falling apart. Because it was real, now, and she was real. The bruises on her face were real, the scratches on her skin were real, and the ripped, bloodied underwear sitting on the bathroom floor of that hotel were real.

Girls were raped. In the US, in other countries, in bedrooms and in holding cells. Foreign girls in US military camps were almost always raped-he knew that, and yet somehow this was so much harder to understand. Soldiers were shitty sometimes. Men were shitty sometimes. _People_ were shitty, more often than he liked to admit. Tony didn't agree with that craze that came over men's eyes when they saw girls helpless, he didn't like it or ever feel it himself, but he understood it. In the twisted, sick way he understood murderers and psychos, maybe, but he understood it.

But not Ziva.

People were tortured and interrogated, that was just how it was. He hadn't liked it, at first, but he'd accepted that fact and that there was nothing he could do about it. He couldn't be there for all of them, so he had to shut it off. He had to be there for none of them. He had to look past it, he had to ignore it, he had to shut off that part of his brain because otherwise? Otherwise, he would drown in all the horrible tragedy and crime that was humanity at its worst. He'd watched Gibbs drown in that, and he wasn't going down that road. Even if it made him a monster, even if it kept him up at night in the beginning, even if it was horrible. He had to just… shut it off.

Seven years could do a lot to a person. He'd changed-a lot-and he wasn't proud of it but, with his dad dead and the team disbanded, there wasn't anyone he had to keep up the charade for. He took the jobs he did because it fit. Because, at least he told himself, he saved some goody-two-shoes soldier with a wife and kids back home from selling his soul to get information. If he did it, then someone else didn't have to. Someone who still had a team to go back to, who still had people that needed to see humanity in them. That was what he told himself, at least.

But this was Ziva. This was _his_ Ziva who was curled up on the bed, breathing, and looking so damn broken he wanted to cry. His Ziva. He could tell from the burn marks on her upper back that they'd electrocuted her-taser or otherwise. It wasn't one of his preferred methods, too big of a risk of internal complications, but… he'd still done it. He'd done it to people.

How many of those people had been undercover, or forced to take the fall for someone else? Not many, realistically, but that didn't help. How many had had families? Friends? If they could do this to _his_ Ziva, without even blinking... How many of the people he'd interrogated had been someone else's Ziva?

No one is looking for him, all blood relatives are dead, they live alone, no romantic partners-how many times had he heard that, even said it? Like being alone made torture okay, suddenly. Ziva was alone, by all accounts. But that didn't meant she wasn't loved, that no one was thinking about her, that no one cared. Amina Ahmed was a terrorist, a loner who bit people in the crotch. But she was Ziva. She was _his_ Ziva, and they tortured her.

For God's sake _he_ had almost tortured her!

"Don't do that to yourself, Tony." He almost screamed at her voice. How long had she been laying there, awake, just watching him freak out?!

"I'm fine, sweetheart, go back to sleep." She glared, though, until he scooted the chair closer and took her hand again. But, even with that, she didn't close her eyes again.

"Stop it. You're beating yourself up and I can tell. Stop." He sighed, even when she squeezed his hand. "I mean it, _sweetheart_ , stop."

"You're not going to mention the fact that I was going to interrogate you? Torture you?" She chewed her lip, even though it was cracked and bleeding already, but didn't look away from him. Had her eyes always been like that? Like the kind of warm he could fall into after a long day and sleep for hours. Like the kind of comfort that made him melt. Like… her.

"I interrogated people, tortured them, before you met me." But that was different! That was… she'd been different then.

"That was different, Zi. You were different back then." She laughed a little.

"You mean that was before I discovered my human side?" He was quiet, but that seemed to be answer enough. "People change. I lost it before I met you, you lost it after."

"That doesn't make it better." She squeezed his hand, smiling a little even if he looked like he wanted to die-which he was sure that he did. Because, he did-in fact-want to die.

"No, it doesn't. But it does mean you can take a minute and breathe before you panic about the moral implications of what you've done. It does mean that we're on an even playing field. It does mean that, for now, you can set that aside and just be here with me. Because I need you right now. More than any of those thoughts, more than any of those faces, more than any of those nightmares. Can you do that? Can you be here for me, for right now, sweetheart?" Somehow, that made him breathe. If only for a second, he sucked in oxygen and he could see her a little clear. See the bruises on her cheeks. See the anxiety behind her eyes, the shudder in every breath. She needed him.

"Yeah, I'm sorry. Of course I'm here for you, sweetheart. Of course. What can I do?" She smiled, finally letting her eyes fall closed again as she squeezed his hand. He couldn't tell anymore who was reassuring who, but he didn't care. It felt good.

"Keep talking? I'm just.. Really anxious and your voice helps so maybe you could keep talking?"

"Of course, sweetheart. Hey, did I ever tell you about that time McGee got his tongue stuck to a swing set and Gibbs had to pour hot water on it?" He kept talking, kept telling stories, but his focus went to her face. Her eyes relaxed, so they weren't so pinched at the corners, and the longer he talked, the slower her breathing came. It began to shallow, gradually, as he ran out of funny stories and switched to just true one. The plague, too, eventually once he was sure she was asleep. He didn't stop talking, though, because… Because she needed him to keep talking, so that's what he did. He kept talking. After a while, he prayed that she wasn't listening to the words but he kept talking, telling every story he could think of even the ones that made him ashamed to be alive. He kept talking, though.

Because she needed him to.

* * *

Thanks for reading! Positive reviews make me update a hundred times faster! Also, I've decided to continue this one a little longer but not sure how long it'll be. Thoughts?

Side note, please be nice to me it's really scary to put your own work out there like this! Please and thank you.


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